CLAUDE

 

The box on the table was filled with interesting smells. And, I guessed, interesting food that was causing the interesting smells.

I snuffled around the base of the kitchen table, wiggling my rear against the tiled floor, my tiny tail moving with it. Magnificent though I am, in dog terms, I’m just not all that tall, and try as I might I couldn’t even see the box from close up, let alone reach it. I eyed the kitchen chairs. A more energetic dog might attempt to jump up, I supposed, but my legs weren’t long enough to make it, and I didn’t fancy the indignity of falling flat on my snout on the kitchen floor if I tried.

I did fancy the interesting smells, though. They smelt delicious.

I’d just sat back on my haunches to consider my options, when a foot collided with my side. I scampered back with a whine.

‘Oh!’ Daisy, one of my people, cried out as she stumbled, dropping the stack of presents she was carrying so they scattered across the table. And the floor. And one of the chairs. There was red and gold shiny paper everywhere.Glitter rained down from above, sparkly and shiny (but not good to eat. I’d checked.)

‘Claude! What are you doing there? Honestly, how do you always seem to know exactly the wrong place to sit? Oliver!’ Daisy sounded cross. Daisy didn’t often sound cross, so I made a point of listening carefully. Usually, Daisy sounded fun, and full of laughter, and like she might give me treats at any moment just for managing not to drool on her new shoes (that happened last week). But not today.

Today, I didn’t think Daisy was in the mood to give me any treats at all. And definitely not any of the food that was making the interesting smells in the box.

This was not good.

Oliver, Daisy’s husband, appeared in the doorway. He didn’t look in much of a better mood than Daisy. ‘What?’

‘Put Claude in his crate in the car, will you? He’s being such a nuisance.’ Personally, I’d argue that the person who came into the kitchen, kicked me by accident and threw presents and glitter everywhere was much more of a nuisance. I gave a sharp bark to show my disagreement, but Daisy just glared at me. ‘At least if he’s in his crate he’s ready to go, and it’s one less thing for me to trip over in this bloody house.’

I do not like my crate. Well, it’s okay for a while, I suppose. But it’s not nearly as comfortable as my basket.

I turned big eyes and ears on Oliver, and hoped he was feeling sympathetic.

‘Already? Shouldn’t we wait until we’re ready to go?’ Good man, Oliver.

‘We are ready,’ Daisy snapped. Oliver gave the presents littering the kitchen a pointed look. ‘Or we would be, if I wasn’t the only one doing the packing.’

‘I’llput Claude in the car,’ Oliver said quickly, self-defence obviously winning out over sympathy. I couldn’t really blame him. And actually, with Daisy in this mood, maybe I’d be safer out there anyway.

I’d be glad when all this Christmas chaos was over and Daisy could go back to being the lovely human I knew she was. A lovely human with doggy treats, preferably. As much fun as Christmas was – with all the presents and interesting smells and lights on the tree –

I didn’t like how grumpy it made Daisy.

‘Good. Then come back for the Christmas hamper.’ Daisy waved a hand at the box of interesting smells. ‘And don’t forget the twins’ special present! I’ll get the rest of the gifts in the car, then we can round up the kids and get them loaded up too.’

‘If there’s still room for them,’ Oliver muttered, under his breath.

I hoped he was joking. My ears had perked up a little at the mention of the kids. As much as I loved Daisy and Oliver, their children were far more fun. Especially Jay who, now he was six, had stopped trying to ride me and could play some really good games. The twins were too little to do anything much yet, but I was looking forward to watching them grow up. I hoped they’d be as much fun as Jay. Bella was older, but liked to take me for a walk sometimes – usually when she wanted to get away from her parents. She talked to me occasionally, too, curled up on the sofa when her family weren’t looking. I think she liked having someone who could only bark back.

But still, I have to admit, Jay is my favourite person ever.

‘Come on, Claude old boy.’ Oliver hauled me into his arms and headed outside. As we passed the lounge, I saw the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree, and heard the faint sounds of the twins’ favourite toy making the same noises over and over again. That was probably Jay playing with it, not them. At five months old, the twins weren’t all that interested in their toys, but Jay thought they were marvellous. I’d tried chewing on one or two of them, but Oliver or Daisy always took them away.

That was okay. They didn’t taste all that good anyway.

Outside, it turned out, was a lot chillier than the kitchen. The front door clattered shut behind us, the circle of leaves and berries that Daisy had hung on it thudding against the wood. The car stood on the driveway, doors wide open and the boot door up high too. It was a bigger car than most on our street, I’d realised a while ago. I supposed because we had so many more people than most of the houses on Maple Drive.

My crate sat in the boot, behind the seats where Jay and Bella sat, which in turn were behind the row with the baby seats, which were behind Oliver and Daisy’s chairs. My red blanket covered the floor of the crate, and there was a chew toy or two to keep me entertained. I wondered how far we were going today.

It was Christmas, and that usually meant a few days at Granny and Grandad’s house by the seaside. I liked it there – the sand was funny-feeling under my paws, and chasing the waves was always fun, even if I’d never caught them yet. But this year things felt different. Less fun, for a start. I’d been listening, while Daisy had been getting things ready for our trip, but some of the words she’d used hadn’t made much sense. Ferry. France. Chateau. They were new words to me.

I had heard them talking about Granny and Grandad too, though, so that was good. It wouldn’t be Christmas without them. They always had doggy treats for me, and their dog, Petal, was good at sharing her toys. And her people.

I didn’t really like to share my people at all, but Jay liked me more than any other dog anyway, so that was all right.

I settled down in my crate, as Oliver swung the door closed, and prepared to wait for the rest of the family to join me. Preferably with snacks.

It didn’t take long.

‘Claude!’ Jay whispered my name, louder than most people would shout. I jumped up at the sound of his voice. ‘I’m sorry you’re stuck in your crate. I’ve brought you something to keep you company on the drive.’ He fumbled with the door of the crate, then pushed his stuffed toy inside. I huffed my gratitude. It wasn’t just any stuffed toy – it was the special French Bulldog toy that Granny and Grandad had bought him because they said it looked just like me.

I couldn’t see it, myself. My blue colouring was far more elegant.

‘Jay!’ Daisy yelled from inside the house, her voice sharp and impatient, and the little boy’s eyes widened.

‘See you later, Claude!’ He slammed the crate door shut again, running off before he could realise the latch hadn’t caught properly.

Interesting.

Still, there was nowhere I really needed to go, so I settled back down with the cuddly toy for company, and watched as the family came and went, loading boxes and bags into the car, and the bigger box on the roof. Oliver staggered out with a huge gift wrapped box, bigger than my crate, and jammed it into the boot beside me. The wrapping paper had pictures of red and white striped candy canes, and brown people shaped things with sweets for buttons that looked delicious. ‘Not for eating,’ Oliver reminded me, as he headed back to the house for the next box. ‘If you eat the wrapping paper off the twins’ first Christmas present, there’ll be hell to pay.’

As if I’d be so stupid. Besides, I’d tried it last month at Jay’s birthday. Wrapping paper tasted only marginally better than glitter.

Every time the door opened, there was a blast of screaming from the twins. Suddenly, I was rather glad to be waiting in the car, even if no onehad brought me a mid-morning snack yet.

Oliver balanced the box of interesting smells beside my crate for a moment, then placed it on the back seat instead. ‘Just in case,’ he said, looking at me meaningfully.

I huffed and turned around in my crate, facing away from him. No need to be insulting.

But then I spotted someone else outside the car. Someone definitely not family.

Perdita. The ridiculously fluffy, unnecessarily haughty, cat from across the road at number 12.

And she was sniffing.

‘What’s that interesting smell?’ she meowed, padding closer. ‘Oh, sorry, you wouldn’t know, of course. You’re stuck in that crate.’

Like she never had to go in a crate to go to the vet or whatever. Cats. They always think they’re better than everyone else.

‘I know that whatever it is, it’s not yours,’ I growled back.

Perdita sprang up into the car boot, delicately climbing the mountain of suitcases and presents to reach the back seat. ‘Smells like fish. Maybe smoked salmon …’ she batted the box of interesting smells with one paw.

That was a paw too far for this dog.

Without warning, I burst through the open crate door and barked at Perdita, making her yowl. She jumped backwards, away from the box, scrambling against the twins’ Christmas present as she slid down out of the car. I growled in satisfaction, and she hissed back at me.

Actually hissed.

Well. A dog has his pride, right? I couldn’t just let her get away with that.

I leapt down onto the pavement behind her, chasing her back down the street, away from my territory. My family.

We didn’t need no stupid cats hanging around here.

I didn’t intend to actually catch her, which was just as well, as Perdita positively flew across the street, up over the fence at number 12, and away. Still, I think I’d made my point.

Slowing to a stop beside a comfortable-looking patch of grass in the shelter of an evergreen hedge, I lay down to recover from my exertions. Running is not one of my favourite activities. Actually, walking is a bit much too. I like to think I was made for warming a person’s feet by a fire, and eating. Puffing a little, I tried to catch my breath. I’d just rest for a moment, then I’d head back to the car. After all, I was excited to discover what ferry, France and chateau meant.

But then I heard the slamming of car doors, and the unmistakeable sound of an engine starting. And that was the moment my adventure really began.

 

DAISY

 

‘Right. Is that everything?’ Daisy buckled Lara into her car seat, ignoring her indignant wails drowning out the Christmas music she’d put on the car stereo, as Oliver did the same with Luca on the other side. Five months old and they already hated everything Daisy tried to do. Surely it had taken longer for that sort of objection to set in with Bella and Jay? Maybe it was because there were two of them this time. Double trouble, Oliver called them, and not without good reason.

In the row behind, Jay was trying to fasten his own seatbelt over his booster seat. Beside him, Bella rolled her eyes with the kind of disdain only a fourteen-year-old could manage, and took over, clipping it in with ease.

How had it come to this? Inside, Daisy couldn’t help but feel that she was barely older than her eldest child. But out in the real world, she had four kids, a needy dog, a ridiculously large car, and a trip to make across the channel the day before Christmas Eve. Not to mention a husband who looked exhausted and grumpy before the whole adventure had even begun.

It was Christmas. A time for family, fun and celebrating, surely. Not stress eating smoked salmon from the packet and fantasising about a gin and tonic on the ferry at eleven inthe morning.

‘Suitcases are packed. Claude’s in his crate.’ Oliver ticked the items off on his fingers as he recounted the list, raising his voice to be heard over the twins’ escalating cries and the sound of Slade announcing the arrival of Christmas. Still, at least the babies tended to pass out the moment the car was in motion. They just had to get on the road. Quickly. ‘We have nappies, presents, snacks and passports. Anything else?’

‘What about the hamper?’ The same question her mother had been asking every time she’d called that morning from France to check if they were on their way yet.

‘Wedged in the back seat between Bella and Jay. I figured it was safer than leaving it with Claude.’

‘Good call.’ Claude almost certainly wouldn’t like smoked salmon, or any of the other contents of the M&S hamper, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try them, just to make sure. He’d eaten a whole bowl of cashew nuts the week before, plus a slice of cheesecake from her plate the week before that. She’d just nipped upstairs to check on the twins and when she got back – gone. The blasted dog was ruled by his stomach.

‘Remind me why your parents couldn’t just buy food in France?’ Oliver asked, as he slid into the passenger seat, scowling at the fairy lights flashing on the dashboard. So she was driving then. Right.

‘Apparently it’s not the same.’ Which Daisy would have thought was rather the point. Why move to France in the first place if you really only wanted M&S food in a slightly sunnier climate? Maybe it was for the wine. That would make sense.

‘I still don’t understand why we have to go at all,’ Oliver grumbled, and Daisy bit the inside of her cheek to keep from responding that he was the one who said what a brilliant idea it was when her parents first suggested spending Christmas with them in their new home in Normandy. If she’d answered the phone that night they could be eating mince pies in the peace of their own home right now.

Or possibly not. Her father could be very hard to say no to when he had an idea in his head, and as their only child she did feel a certain obligation to them. But at least she would have tried. Who asked their daughter to traipse across the Channel two days before Christmas with four kids and a dog in tow?

Daisy took a deep breath. It would all be fine. It would be a lovely, family Christmas. They’d all be together, playing board games, or maybe charades. She and Mum would cook a wonderful Christmas roast, and they’d all eat too much pudding. Claude and Petal would beg for turkey scraps, Jay would pull everyone’s crackers for them, and the twins would sleep through the night finally.

Well, maybe not that last one. Even the season of miracles had its limits.

But the important thing was they would all be together, having precious family time.

Daisy smiled to herself. There. Everything felt much calmer now she’d focused on what really mattered.

‘Right, kids, everyone okay back there?’ she called, back through the seats. No response. ‘Bella?’

Daisy peered further back. Of course. Bella had her phone out and was staring intently at the screen, her headphones clamped over her ears. Jay was already deep into some game or another on his tablet. She glanced at Oliver for some parental support.

Oliver was playing Candy Crush on his phone.

Another deep breath. This one didn’t help nearly so much.

‘Right!’ she snapped, reaching between the front seats and whipping Oliver’s phone fromhis hand.

‘Hey!’

‘Hand them over.’ Unbuckling her seatbelt, she held out a hand for Bella and Jay’s devices, and they both stared at her in horror. ‘This is a family holiday. Time for us to reconnect as a family unit. To talk, share our thoughts, play together. Not stare at individual screens for the next three days then go home again.’

‘So, what? You’re going to lock up our phones?’ Bella raised her eyebrows. ‘Seriously?’

‘If that’s what it takes.’ Did she even have somewhere to lock them? Daisy cast her gaze around the car and spotted her mother’s old vanity case that had been turned into a first aid kit, sitting on the floor of the backseat. That would do.

‘But I’ll miss everything!’ Bella wailed. ‘How will I know what’s going on at home, with my friends?’

‘You can ask them when you get back,’ Daisy said. Leaning across the twins’ car seats, ignoring the squeaks from the babies, she plucked the tablet and phone from Bella and Jay. Then she flipped open the vanity case and dropped them and Oliver’s phone on top of the half full packets of plasters and some antiseptic cream that had gone green around the lid.

‘What about yourphone, then?’ Bella’s face was thunderous. ‘I mean, if we’re not allowed ours …’

‘Fine!’ Daisy pulled her own phone from her pocket and added it to the pile. She rifled around in the pocket inside the lid of the vanity case to find the key, shut the box and turned the key in the lock. ‘There.’ She decided to ignore the rebellious mutterings from the back seat. ‘Now, is everyone strapped in?’

A downbeat chorus of agreement followed. Daisy manoeuvred herself out of the back of the car, uttering a silent prayer that the twins wouldn’t choose today not to sleep in the car. Or at least stop wailing sometime soon. It was so hard to think with that constant howl of noise.

Shoving the tiny silver key in her jeans pocket, Daisy checked her watch as she reached up with her other hand to slam the car boot, blocking the noise for a moment at least. Damn, they were running late now. Portsmouth was an hour or more’s drive from their leafy Surrey suburb, and the ferry wouldn’t wait for them. She’d have to put her foot down to make it. Belatedly, she glanced at Claude’s blue coat through the grimy rear windscreen, small beside the absurdly huge gift she’d wrapped for the twins. What had she been thinking? Well, actually, she knew that. It had been October, and she’d still been thinking she’d be spending Christmas at home for once, instead of traipsing around the country visiting family. She’d thought that, just for once, they could have a peaceful family Christmas, just the six of them. Well, seven if you counted Claude.

She hadn’t been expecting her parents’ phone call with their demands that they all cross the channel to spend Christmas in France.

Daisy sighed. It would be fine. Claude seemed to be sleeping, at least. She just hoped he didn’t need a toilet stop before they reached Portsmouth …

‘Are we going then?’ Oliver called from the passenger seat. From his tone, Daisy surmised that he was not best pleased to have lost his own entertainment. Well, tough.

‘We are,’ she said, as cheerily as she could manage. Buckling herself into the driver’s seat, she started the engine and turned up the volume on the Christmas CD. ‘Right. Which way do I go?’

Beside her, Olivershrugged. ‘How should I know? The sat nav is on my phone. Which you locked up.’

God, he was more petulant than Bella, and Daisy hadn’t honestly believed that was possible. But she was not going to let it get to her. She wasn’t.

Daisy reached into the tray under her seat and pulled out the ancient road atlas they hadn’t used since Bella was a baby. ‘We’ll just have to do it the old-fashioned way then, won’t we?’ she said, smiling sweetly at Oliver as she passed it to him. ‘Now, who wants to play a word game while we drive? I’ll start. I spy with my little eye, something beginning with M.’

‘Muh! Muh! Muh!’ Luca called desperately, and Lara began to wail in response.

‘Misery,’ guessed Bella.

‘My tablet,’ Jay said, sadly.

‘Many, many miles of this,’ Oliver muttered.

Daisy decided a few more deep breaths might be in order between Maple Drive and Portsmouth.

Not to mention a very large gin and tonic once they got on the bloody ferry.

 

JACK

 

Maple Drive might possibly be the least festive place on his post route, Jack decided, as he took in the sad, token sprig of holly tied to the door knocker of number 16. It was as if they’d all forgotten about Christmas until the last moment, then decided it wasn’t really worth the bother. There was the odd wreath, a glimpse of a fake Christmas tree through a couple of windows, but that was it. Well, apart from the tasteful string of icicle lights hanging along the bedroom windowsill at number 12. And even those looked a little forlorn in the grey, pale, winter sunlight.

It wasn’t that Jack thought that every house needed a light-up Santa on the roof, along with eight creepy glow-in-the-dark reindeer. Still, a little festive cheer wouldn’t go amiss. He’d even taken to humming Christmas carols on his rounds, just to try and raise the street’s spirits.

But apparently Maple Drive was the wrong place to be looking for cheer, festive or otherwise.

‘And will you look at that travesty of a decoration across at number 12? Makes the place look like a red light zone.’ Mrs Templeton, grey haired and sternly disapproving, shook her head. She reminded Jack of a head teacher he’d had when he was five, who had been scarier than all his superiors in the army put together. Who knew that returning to civilian life after ten years in the forces would still hold such opportunities to quake in his boots?

Mrs Templeton pointed forcibly towards number 12 and Jack felt obliged to look, if he had any hope of her signing for her parcel. All he could see was the delicate icicle lights under the windowsill. A small patch of brightness in the dark, winter day.

‘I quite like them, actually,’ he said mildly, earning himself a glare from Mrs Templeton.

‘Well. I suppose you would.’ She looked him up and down, and Jack wondered what she saw. Mild-mannered postman or ex-Corporal Tyler? Some days, he wasn’t sure which one he was anymore, either.

Mrs Templeton sniffed. ‘She’s pretty enough, I suppose. In a blowsy, overblown sort of way.’

Ah. That was what she was thinking. Well, she was right, to a point. The occupant of number 12 Maple Drive, was pretty. Very pretty, in fact. But in a sad, lonely way, Jack had always thought.

And given the number of parcels he’d delivered to her house over the past few months, he’d had plenty of time to develop that opinion. Holly Starr, 12 Maple Drive, Surrey, seemed to order her entire life online, as far as Jack could tell.

‘And that cat of hers! Look, there it goes now, racing about all over the place!’ Jack turned to look, and saw a fluffy black and white streak flying across the road. Then, falling behind, a small, blue-grey dog scampering after it, his oversized ears flapping in the breeze. ‘Oh, and don’t get me started on the dogs on this street—’ Mrs Templeton said, as the dog gave up the chase and slunk back to the pavement and, Jack assumed, home.

‘If I could just get you to sign here …’ Jack interrupted, proffering his electronic pad again, and holding in a sigh when Mrs Templeton sniffed at the very sight of it.

‘Modern gadgets.’ She took the plastic stylus gingerly between two fingers. ‘I don’t know what was wrong with a pen and paper, personally.’

Jack gave her what he hoped was a patient smile. Unfortunately she seemed to take it as encouragement.

‘That’s what’s wrong these days. Too much reliance on electronics. Especially the children. Even my grandson Zach is glued to his computer thing … but that’s because his mother doesn’t know how to control him. He never plays on that device in myhouse.’ She pointed the stylus at him, somewhat menacingly. ‘I remember when there was none of that. Children listened and played outside in the street and they didn’t act up if they knew what was good for them. And there was none of this gaudy … Americanisation of Christmas.’ The stylus waved towards the icicle lights again. ‘Really. Lights. On the outside of the house!’

Jack couldn’t resist. ‘You should see the houses on Cedar Avenue,’ he said, in a conspiratorial whisper. ‘One of them has a full set of Snow White and the seven dwarves lit up on their roof.’

Mrs Templeton gasped with predictable horror. ‘But … that’s not even festive!’

Jack shrugged. ‘Well, there’s also one with the Nativity. Maybe you’d like that one more.’

‘I sincerely doubt it.’

So did Jack. ‘Anyway …’ He glanced meaningfully at the stylus, still punctuating Mrs Templeton’s every thought. ‘If you could just …’ he shook the electronic pad again.

‘Humph.’ Mrs Templeton scrawled a few lines across the screen, and Jack decided that was good enough. He handed her the parcel, along with a few Christmas card-sized envelopes on the top. She scowled at them. ‘And look at these stamps! What happened to a good, old-fashioned Nativity scene for a Christmas stamp? I ask you.’

Jack quite liked the cartoon Santas, but Mrs Templeton had already shut the door before he could say so.

‘Merry Christmas, Mrs Templeton,’ he called, through the closed door. ‘You miserable old bat,’ he added under his breath.

 This wasn’t what he’d expected when he’d moved to Maple Drive. Fresh out of the army, he’d taken a job as a postmanand, when he was assigned to an area of the suburbs with nice, neat houses, friendly looking front doors and well-kept lawns, he’d thought he’d stumbled onto exactly what he’d been looking for. Somewhere peaceful, friendly, and properly British. The sort of place he might get invited in for the occasional cup of tea or a biscuit. Or, at least, somewhere he might make new friends, and find a new community to replace the family he’d left behind when he left the forces.

He was so sure this was what he was looking for, he’d even rented one of the smaller terrace houses on the edge of the estate, just at the corner of Maple Drive.

It hadn’t taken long for the illusion to be shattered.

Maple Drive might look like friendly, community-spirited suburbia, but those neighbourhood watch signs and hedges trimmed into animal shapes were misleading. The street was filled with curtain-twitchers, busy workers who left post-it notes asking him to drop their parcels through open top windows, or leave them in strange hiding places, and Mrs Templeton. In three months, he could count the number of actual conversations he’d had with his neighbours on one hand – and most of them had been to do with the declining standards of the postal service. He doubted anyone on Maple Drive even realisedthat he actually lived there too.

With a sigh, Jack trudged back along the street, away from Mrs Templeton’s house at the top of the cul-de-sac. He dropped a few cards through the letterbox atnumber 11, the McCawley’s, and was about to cross the street to deliver the small parcel in his bag for Holly Starr at number 12 – her of the icicles – when he spotted something shining on the driveway. Frowning, he bent down to pick it up. He held the small, silver key between two fingers and considered it. It looked like the sort of key that might open one of those padlocks that came in Christmas crackers, or maybe a secret journal or something. Probably nothing important, but still … Turning, he pushed it through number 11’s letterbox to land on the cards. At least that way, they’d find it in case they needed it.

With a satisfied nod, he marched across the street to number 12. After all, it was Christmas. And the pleasure of delivering presents to Holly Starr was basically the only present he expected to get this year.

Maybe he’d even tell her he liked her icicles.

 

• Text Copyright © 2016 by Sophie Pembroke
• Cover Art Copyright © 2016 by Avon
• Permission to reproduce text granted by Avon. Cover art used by arrangement with Avon. All rights reserved.